You know your flight isn't going well ...
when your husband is sitting half naked in his seat, your moaning two year old sprawled across his lap, dressed only in underwear, baby screaming bloody murder in the other arm.
And you? The mother? Instead of helping your partner wrangle your two barfing, screaming children during the first hour of the flight, you've got your face buried in a flimsy white bag that couldn't have been made for vomit because, hello, who makes a puke bag out of paper?
Oh, and those clothes that your husband and 2.5 year old were wearing? They are nestled snugly inside one of the ten plastic garbage bag under your seat because they are drenched with baby and toddler vomit. And you, the mother? You kind of wish someone would PULease tuck you under a seat so the aircraft would stop spinning.
And that emergency flight attendant button? Yeah, that thing isn't for decoration and you, the mother, liberally tested it by calling the flight attendant who graciously brought you at least 10 garbage bags, hand sanitizer, 50 napkins and enough Ginger Ale and kind words to settle an entire plane load of stomachs all while spritzing air freshener up and down the aisles of the plane so as to keep the other passengers from declaring mutiny and voting your and the other naked barfers off the plane.
And when the plane finally barrels to a screeching stop at the end of the runway and the cabin lights shine? All of the other passengers within a six row radius, stand, turn and look at you with an equal mix of pity, disgust and thankfulness that the flight from hell has ended and they, indeed, were not the victims of any of your family members' barf. Some congratulate you because the flight is over. Others offer a chuckle of mercy and relief while asking "rough flight?" And you, the mother, who spent a flight nursing a sick baby in one arm and holding a puke bag in the other? You want to go all Bobby Knight on the next person who asks if the ride was a little "bumpy."
The highlight of the flight? At least you, the mother, managed to get all your barf into a bag instead of square on your husband's face and shirt and pants ala the kids. That, potentially, could have killed any sweltering romance that watching two baby births hasn't already knocked out of the park.
Thank God for husbands with iron stomachs, air freshener, no turbulence on an internally bumpy flight, carry-on suitcases that unknowingly house pajamas for a naked toddlers,two baby carriers that can transport two completely passed out, sick kids all the way from the gate to baggage claim to the car and saint-like flight attendants who sweetly bid you farewell by saying "Don't worry; it happens. See you next flight."
"Thanks. God bless you," you, the mother, say out loud. "See you next flight."
And then, you, the mother, mumble under your breath, "In about 10 years when the kids can fend for themselves and aim puke into a bag or when pigs can fly."
That would at least put your mess to shame.
P.S. If you are traveling with children and can choose to take a Southwest Airlines flight, ohmygosh, do it. You won't be sorry. The customer service is awesome. Even when you're barfing. (And just for note, we bought our plane tickets, and I'm not being paid to say this. The company just rocks; we've had nothing but good experiences on all 12 of our flights, and onmygoodness do you need good experiences when you fly with kids!)